Hell On An Angel
by Aldela
Summary: "When you've been abused and looked down upon all your life, you begin to feel like everyone's the same. So you build up walls, piss people off and push away all contact. You hide behind drugs, alcohol, and a bad reputation to keep people away. You act like you don't care, like you don't want or need other people, but in reality, all you are is scared."
1. prologue

**Summary: **_Trapped on a roof and afraid of being eaten alive, Merle Dixon attempts to saw off his own hand to escape death. He would have succeeded too, if not for a surprise savior. Meet Nashoba, a Chickasaw Indian. A woman of the land, Nashoba knows everything there is to know about survival in the wild world. So why does she find herself in Atlanta? She didn't know why she went to Atlanta, it wasn't like she needed to. But she understands why when she finds Merle with his hand half sawed off. At first glance, he's a hot tempered, racist, druggie redneck. But Nashoba finds that there's more to this man than meets the eye._

_ Okay, so this is my Walking Dead story! I've been toying with this idea for a while now and have decided that I wanted to put it into actual words. The prologue is crappy, I found that it's very difficult (at least for me) to write something that comes from a TV screen. I tried though, and I hope this does the actual show some justice. Please let me know what you think of it. This story was inspired by the song _Hell on an Angel by Brantley Gilbert_. Yay for country music! :D_

_ But anyway, I'm done ranting now. Please read and review!_

_P.S.- let me know if the rating needs to change because of the language._

_P.P.S.- I own only Nashoba and the plot line (Minus this chapter of course)_

* * *

_(From "The Walking Dead")_

The gunshot echoed through the building. "Oh no, Is that Dixon?" Andrea asked fretfully.

"What is that maniac doing?" Glen asked as Morales tells them to get moving. Everyone, new guy Rick included, races to the rooftop.

Morales was the first through the door. "Hey, Dixon, are you crazy?!" Morales shouts at the man. The man, a brute wearing a vest and a leather wristband with a rifle in his hands, laughs. He fires off another round and Andrea groans.

The man, Dixon, turns around and points the gun towards the group. "Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun. Huh?" he says as he jumps down from the edge "Only common sense."

"Man, you wasting bullets we ain't even got!" T-dog shouts at him and Dixon laughs "And you bringing even more of them down on our ass! Man, just chill!"

Dixon walks towards T-dog, gesturing with his hands and the rifle that is still held in his right. "Bad enough I've got this tobacco-bender on my ass all day. Now I'm gonna take orders from you?" he asks "I don't think so bro. That'll be the day."

T-dog takes offense to his words. "'That'll be the day?' You got something you wanna tell me?" T-dog asks, gesturing towards himself. Morales tries to tell him to leave it, that the man isn't worth it, but T-dog keeps fighting. Morales tries to tell the man, Merle Dixon, to calm down, they have enough trouble as it is. But Merle just ignores him.

"You wanna know the day?" Merle asks T-dog. T-dog tells him yes. "I'll tell you the day, Mr. "Yo". It's the day I take orders from a nigger." Merle says, raising the barrel of the gun towards the sky. Almost immediately, T-dog goes to hit the man.

Merle fights back. He blocks T-dog's punch and strikes the man with the butt of the gun. The others are telling him to stop, but he just won't do it. Merle sets the gun down and goes after T-dog, punching him. The new guy, Rick, tries to step in but he gets punched as well, sending him flying to the ground. Merle turns right back around and kicks T-dog in the chest, then he punches him again and T-dog falls into a piece of piping, smacking his head off it and falling to the ground. Still, Merle doesn't relent. He kicks him over and over as the others yell at him to stop, that he's hurting him.

Merle gets down and starts to punch T-dog and when Morales tries to intervene, Merle elbows him in the stomach. Merle punches him once more before drawing out the pistol tucked into his waistband. He points it at T-dog's head. Andrea begs him not to hurt him any further. Merle appears to ignore her, and spits on the black man's chest, rubbing it into his shirt.

"Yeah! All right!" Merle shouts as he stands up "We're gonna have ourselves a little powwow, huh? Talk about who's in charge! I vote me. Anybody else?"

The others drag T-dog away from the brute man and start to check over his injuries. Merle continues shouting. "Huh?!" he asks "Democracy time, y'all. Show of hands? All in favor? Come on, let's see 'em!"

"Oh come on." Andrea groans.

"All in favor?" Merle asks again, smirking. He waves his gun around the group. "Yeah. That's good." He says as they start to raise their hands. "Now, that means I'm the boss, right? Yeah, anybody else? Hm? Anybody?"

Sometime during the fight, Rick had gotten back up. He stood behind Merle. "Yeah." He said in answer to the man's last question. When Merle turned around, Rick knocks the butt of the rifle into Merle's face, this time sending him flailing to the ground. Rick throws the rifle to the ground, steps over to Merle, places his knee on the man's face, pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and handcuffs Merle to a piece of metal on the roof. Then he lifts him up and shoves him back against the piping.

"Who the hell are you man?!" Merle growls.

"Officer Friendly." Rick answers snidely. Rick turns around and grabs the pistol Merle dropped, popping the clip out to look at the number of rounds.

"Look here, Merle. Things are different now." Rick started "There are no _niggers_ anymore. No dumb-as-shit, inbred white-trash idiots either. Only dark meat and white meat. There's us and The Dead. We survive this by pulling _together,_ not apart." Rick pops the clip back into the gun.

"Screw you, man." Merle mutters. Rick scoffs.

"I can see you make a habit of missing the point."

"Yeah?" Merle asks "Well, screw you twice."

Rick sucks in a breath, cocks the pistol and points it at Merle temple. "You ought to be polite to a man with a gun. Only common sense." Ricks repeats the man's earlier words. The others stare at the interaction.

"You wouldn't." Merle mutters "You're a cop." Rick puts the gun down and kneels a little lower to look the man in the eye.

"All I am anymore is a man looking for his wife and son. Anybody that gets in the way of that is gonna lose." Rick says. He continues to stare Merle down. "I'll give you a moment to think about that." With that, Rick moves on to checking the man for more weapons. But instead he finds a baggie that contains drugs. Rick flicks the man's nose, telling him he has something on it. Merle laughs and asks if he's going to arrest him.

Rick gets up and walks to the edge of the roof, tossing the baggie over it. "Hey! What are you doing? Man that's my stuff!" Merle shouts. He struggles against the cuffs. "If I get lose you better pray - Yeah, you hear me, you pig?! You hear me?! DO you hear me you filthy pig?!"

Morales gets up and walks over to where Rick is now standing on the opposite side of the roof, where Merle was first standing. Morales hears Rick mutter that he hears Merle, his voice carries. Morales stands beside Rick as the man rubs his wrist.

"You're not Atlanta P.D. Where you from?" he asks Rick.

"Up the road a ways."

"Well, Officer Friendly from up the road a ways, welcome to the big city." Morales says as they stare out over the now destroyed city of Atlanta and the zombies roaming the streets.

"Gosh, it's like time square down there." Andrea says as she and Jacqui look over the edge of the building the group is holed up in.

"How's that signal?" Morales asks T-dog as he and Rick walk over to Andrea and Jacque.

"Like Dixon's brain. Weak." T-dog replies. At that Merle flips him the bird.

"Keep trying." Morales tells him.

"Why?" Andrea asks "There's nothing they can do. Not a damn thing." With that she walks away from the edge of the building.

Morales looks to Rick. "Got some people outside the city is all. There's no refugee center. That's a pipe dream."

"Then she's right," Rick says "we're on our own. It's up to us to find a way out."

"Good luck with that. These streets ain't safe in this part of town from what I hear." Merle rasps out. "Ain't that right, sugar tits?" he asks Andrea "Hey, honeybunch, what say you get me outta these cuffs, we go off somewhere and bump some uglies? Gonna die anyway."

"Oh I'd rather." Andrea replies.

"Rug muncher." Merle mutters "I figured as much."

"Streets ain't safe." Rick murmurs as they ignore Merle.

"Now that's an understatement." Morales tells him.

"What about under the streets? The sewers?" Rick asks.

"Oh, man." Morales says, realizing they hadn't thought of that "Hey Glen, check the alley. You see any manhole covers?" Glen gets up and dashes to the other end of the rooftop to peer over the side.

"No," he says as he jogs back "must be all out on the streets where the geeks are."

"Maybe not." Jacqui pops in "Old building like this built in the 20's- big structures often had drainage tunnels into the sewers in case of flooding down in the subbasements."

"How do you know that?" Glen asks her.

"It's my job- was." She answers, turning to look at Rick "I worked in the city zoning office."

Everyone save Merle and T-dog made for the door and headed down to the subbasement level. Sure enough, they find a ladder leading farther down.

"This is it? Are you sure?" Morales asks.

"I really scoped this place out the other times I was here." Glen replies "It's the only thing in the building that goes down. But I've never gone down it. Who'd want to, right?" Everyone looks up at Glen as he looks at them. When he sees the looks on their faces he realizes what they want him to do. "Oh. Great."

"We'll be right behind you." Andrea tries to assure him but Glen interrupts.

"No, you won't. Not you."

"Why not me?" she asks "Think I can't?"

"I wasn't…" Glen stutters out.

"Speak your mind." Rick tells him calmly and collectively

Glen takes a breath and gathers his courage. "Look," he says "until now I always came here by myself. In and out, grab a few things – no problem. The first time I bring a group – everything goes to hell. No offense. If you want me to go down this gnarly hole, fine. But only if we do it my way. It's tight down there. If I run into something and have to get out quick, I don't want you all jammed up behind me getting me killed. I'll take one person. Not you either." Glens tells Rick as he goes to volunteer "You've got Merle's gun and I've seen you shoot. I'd feel better if you were out in that store watching those doors, covering our ass. And you've got the only other gun so you should go with him." He tells Andrea. He points to Morales. "You be my wingman. Jacqui stays here. Something happens, yell down to us and get us back up here in a hurry."

"Okay." Jacqui nods.

"Okay. Everybody knows their jobs." Rick says, looking at Glen and patting him on the shoulder. Rick turns around to head out to the store while Glen starts down the ladder. Once at the bottom, Morales and Glen stand there and stare off into the tunnel. Then begin to slowly make their way through. Glen steps on the tail of a rat, causing it to shriek and he jumps in surprise but they keep moving. A little slower now, but they keep moving.

Upstairs, Andrea and Rick are walking into the store were the walkers are beating at the door. They move carefully around the groups of clothes, watching the doors. Andrea's the first to break the silence.

"Sorry for the gun in your face." She says. Rick looks back at her but keeps walking.

"People do things when they're afraid." He tells her.

"Not that it was entirely unjustified. You did get us into this." She says as she looks back at him. Andrea stops in front of a jewelry display.

"If I get us out, will that make up for it?" he asks seriously.

"No," she answers "but it'd be a start." Rick turns away from her to look at the doors once more. Then he turns back.

"Next time though, take the safety off. It won't shoot otherwise." Rick informs her.

"Oh." She replies as she pulls it out.

"Is that your gun?" Rick asks.

"It was a gift. Why?" she asks. He walks around the display case to stand next to her. He holds his hand out, silently asks her to hand the gun to him. She gives it to him. He clicks the safety off and shows it to her.

"Little red dot means it's ready to fire. You may have occasion to use it." He says as he hands it back. Andrea takes it.

"Good to know."

Up on the roof, T-dog is still trying to get ahold of their other group members. "Anybody out there? Hello? Anybody read? I'm hoping to hear somebodies voice 'cause I'm getting sick and tired of hearing mine." He says agitatedly.

"Yeah, well that makes two of us." Merle jabs "Why don't you knock that crap off? You're giving me a headache, boy."

"Why don't you pull your head out your ass? Maybe your headache will go away." T-dog snaps back. Merle chuckles. "Try some positivity for a change. Damn."

"I'll tell you what-" Merle starts "you get me outta these cuffs and I'll be all 'Sammy Sunshine' positive for ya. Hey, see that hacksaw over there in that tool bag? Get it for me, hmm? Make it worth your while. What do you say man? Come on. Get me outta these things." Merle says as he jerks at the cuffs.

"So you can beat my ass again?" T-dog asks "Or call me nigger some more?"

"Come on now." Merle says "It wasn't personal. It's just that your kind and my kind ain't meant to mix. That's all. It don't mean we can't… work together, parley, as long as there's some mutual gain involved. So… about that hacksaw…"

"Guess you want me to get that rifle over there too. So you can shoot that cop when he comes back up, huh?" T-dog asks. Neither of the men say another word as they stare each other down

Back down in the tunnel system, Glen pushes open a creaky metal door. He and Morales descend a few steps as they come face to face with a barred over sewer tunnel.

"Yeah we got ourselves a sewer tunnel. Jacqui was right." Morales says. Glen pulls at the metal bars that are barring their way.

"Can we cut through it?" he asks Morales.

"If we had a blowtorch and half a day? Sure." He answers "Dale's hacksaw sure as hell won't do it."

Both me are startled by a crunching sound. They look down to find a walker eating a rat on the other side of the bars. Both men jump back as the walker lunges at the bars, squeezing his arm through trying to get at them. Morales and Glen back against the wall. The sewers were a no go.

Upstairs in the store room, Andrea's examining a necklace with a mermaid on it. She makes a quiet noise of approval that catches Rick's attention. He turns towards her to see what's going on. "See something you like?" he asks as he walks over to her.

"Not me." Andrea answers "But I know someone who would. My sister. She's still such a kid in some ways. Unicorns, dragons – she's in to all that stuff. But mermaids – they rule. She loves mermaids."

"Why not take it?" Rick asks. Andrea looks up at him.

"There's a cop staring at me." She retorts. Rick chuckles. Andrea looks back down at the necklace before looking back up at Rick.

"Would it be considered looting?" she asks seriously.

"I don't think those rules apply anymore, do you?" he responds. With a small smile Andrea takes the necklace from its place and puts it in her pocket. Then the first set of doors break. The walkers are getting through. Rick and Andrea race towards the doors with their guns out as Morales and Jacqui appear.

"What'd you find down there?" Rick questions.

"Not a way out." Morales answers.

"We need to find a way." Andrea says "And soon." They all turn and head back to the rooftop where Rick grabs a pair of binoculars and starts scanning the streets.

"That construction site, those trucks-" Ricks says as he passes the binoculars to Morales "They always keep keys on hand."

"You'll never make it past the walkers." Morales shoots down.

"You got me out of that tank." Rick states as he looks to Glen.

"Yeah but they were feeding, they were distracted." Glen argues.

"Can we distract them again?" Rick shoots back.

"Right, listen to him. He's on to something." Merle butts in "A diversion, like on 'Hogan's Heroes'."

"Oh give It a rest." Jacqui snaps.

"They're drawn by sound, right?" Rick confirms.

"Right, like dogs." Glen says "They hear sound, they come."

"What else?" Rick asks.

"Aside from they hear you? They see you, smell you and if they catch you, they eat you." Morales answers.

"They can tell us by smell?" Rick asks.

"Can't you?" Glen asks, incredulous.

"They smell dead, we don't. It's pretty distinct." Andrea pipes in. With an idea in his head, Rick leads everyone minus Merle down stairs. Once down there, he grabs several pairs of rubber gloves and starts to distribute them.

"If bad ideas were an Olympic event, this would take the gold." Glen says unbelievingly.

"He's right." Morales agrees "Just stop, okay? Take some time to think this through."

"How much time?" Rick bites back "They already got through one set of doors. That glass won't hold forever." Rick takes a long coat off its hanger and tosses it to Glen, who still looks unbelieving. They put the garments on and then head for the door that leads outside. They burst outside and Rick and Morales grab the nearest non-living walker and drag it inside the building while Glen makes sure no living walkers eat them. Once the walker is inside, they slam the door closed.

Rick grabs a crowbar and a face mask, puling the latter on. He takes a deep breath, looking at the walker lying on the floor. Even he doesn't really believe what he's about to do. Breaking the glass on a box that contains an axe, he pulls it out and walks around so that he's standing in front of the dead walker. He hands the crowbar to Glen, who sets it on a stool, and prepares to take the first swing at the walker. Everyone watches him.

He moves to chop off a arm or a leg but stops and in frustration rips the face mask off. He throws both the mask and the axe down, takes of his gloves and crouches next to the dead walker. He starts searching pockets for something. He pulls out a wallet and unfolds it.

"Wayne Dunlap." He announces "Georgia license. Born in 1979. He had $28 in his pocket when he died… and a picture of a pretty girl. 'With love, from Rachel.'" He reads off the back of the picture. "He used to be like us – worrying about bills or the rent or the super bowl. If I ever find my family, I'm gonna tell them about Wayne." Rick says as he looks around at the others. He carefully puts the wallet back.

"One more thing." Glen says and everybody looks at him. "He was an organ donor." Rick grabs his mask and gloves and puts them back on, then picks up the axe. With a sharp intake of breath, Rick takes the swing and hits the dead walker. He does it again and again, splitting the stomach and cutting off a leg. There are multiple noises of disgust coming from everyone in the room.

Rick takes three more swings before pulling of the mask and handing both the axe and the mask to Morales. "Keep chopping." He tells him. Morales puts the mask on and continues.

Glen groans. "I'm so gonna hurl."

"Later." Rick says.

After five or six swings, Morales quits chopping. "Everybody got gloves?" Rick asks. At the nods Rick continues. "Don't get any on your skin or in your eyes." With that said, they all bent to grab handfuls of the walker's remains. They smear it all over Glen and Rick. Andrea picks up some intestines and lays them across Glen's shoulders.

"Oh this is bad. This is really bad." Glen moans.

"Think about something else. Puppies and kittens." Rick suggests.

"Dead puppies and kittens." T-dog mutters. Glen turns and vomits.

"That is just evil. What is wrong with you?" Andrea asks Rick.

"Next time let the cracker beat his ass." Jacqui growls at Rick.

"You suck." Glen moans. Rick ignores him.

"Do we smell like them?" he asks.

"Oh yea." Andrea replies in disgust. "Glen," she says as she moves towards him. She offers her gun. "Just in case." She tucks it into his waistband.

"We make it back, be ready." Rick warns.

"What about Merle Dixon?" T-dog asks. Rick takes off one of his gloves and reaches in his pocket to produce the key to the handcuffs. He stares at it for a moment before tossing it to T-dog. He too stares at it before putting it in his pocket. Rick puts his gloves back on. "Give me the axe." He says. Morales picks it up and hands it to him.

"We need more guts." Rick says as he swings the axe again. More disgusted moans followed.

Five to ten minutes later the door opened once again and Glen and Rick, covered in walker guts, stepped out. They shared a look before they started down the alley, faking limps so they appeared more walker like. Morales shut the door behind them and he and the others raced back upstairs to the rooftop.

They made it past the first two walkers with ease, nervous though they were. Once they got to the barricade, they slowly sank down and began to crawl underneath it. Once on the other side, they slowly stood up and began limping down the road toward the construction camp.

Up on the roof, Morales and the others race to the edge of the roof, Morales grabbing the binoculars.

"Hey! What's happening man?!" Merle demands.

"Hey T-dog, try that C.B." Morales says. T-dog collapses by the C.B. and tries to raise the rest of their group outside Atlanta.

"Hey come on. Talk to me y'all!" Merle shouts. They ignore him and Morales searches the street for Rick and Glen. He finds them and points them out to Andrea and Jacqui, who are standing beside him.

"That asshole's out on the street with the handcuff keys?" Merle demands. T-dog pauses and stares at the brute man. He pulls out the key and holds it up, waving it in front of Merle. The brute man glares at him. T-dog returns to trying to get a hold of the rest of their group and for a moment, he gets through.

"Hello? Hello? Receptions bad on this end. Repeat. Repeat." A male voice comes through.

"Shane? Is that you?" T-dog asks. "We're in some deep shit. We're trapped in the department store. There are geeks all over the place. Hundreds of 'em. We're surrounded." He never gets an answer to what he said though.

On the street, Glen and Rick are still shuffling their way towards the construction site. The walkers watch them, but without a living human smell they don't approach farther. But then the rain starts and the blood and guts start to wash off. The walkers notice and now they can smell fresh meat.

"The smell's washing off, isn't it?" Glen grounds out. He starts to panic. "Is it washing off?"

"No," Rick lies "it's not." A walker stumbles past him and growls before turning towards him. "Well, maybe." Then a walker lunges at him. Rick lifts the axe, which he's carried with him, and slams it into the walkers head. "RUN!" he shouts. Both me take off towards the gate, killing a couple zombies as they run. The zombies chase after them.

Once they reach the gate, they throw their weapons over it and haul themselves over the fence. Rick turns, takes out his gun and starts shooting the walkers. Glen runs towards where the keys for the trucks are kept, shouting at Rick to follow. He does and a single walker makes it over the fence.

They get to the truck, get in and shut the door seconds before the stray walker reaches them. Rick starts the engine, puts it in reverse and floors it. As he does, the walkers break the gate down. Rick turns the truck around and heads in the opposite direction of the department store where everyone is trapped. Up on the roof, everyone is freaking out.

"They're leaving us." Andrea exclaims. In the background, Merle demands to know what's going on and what she means.

"Where they going? Where they going?" Morales repeats in fear." Andrea begs them to come back even though from up there they can't hear her.

In the truck Glen, too, is freaking out. "Oh gosh, oh gosh. They're all over that place!" he exclaims. Rick seems relatively calm.

"You need to draw them away. Those roll-up doors at the front of the store – that area? – that's what I need cleared." Rick tells Glen "Raise your friends. Tell them to get down there and be ready."

"And I'm drawing these geeks away how? I – I missed that part." Glen asks panicked.

"Noise." Rick answers. They drive to a deserted parking lot where Rick picks a car and busts out the driver's side window. The car alarm starts blaring. Rick unlocks the car, gets in and uses a screw driver to start it. Then Glen takes over and takes off through the city, telling the other where they need to be and to be ready.

On the roof, everyone is hurrying trying to gather all of their things. "Come on, come on let's go!" Morales shouts as they grab their bags and head for the door leaving Merle Dixon still cuffed to the pipe.

"Hey, you can't leave me here!" Merle screams "I'm not fooling man! Morales! Hey man, don't do this!"

T-dog starts across but pauses and Morales stops and turns to look at him. He can see the expression on the black man's face. Even with as horrible as Merle Dixon is, he could just leave him. "We gotta go!" Morales tells T-dog, but the man is torn. Leave or help the racist redneck Merle Dixon? Speaking of Merle, the man continues to shout, yelling that they can't leave him.

T-dog makes his choice and hurries back over to set Merle free. But in his haste, he trips. The key flies out of his hand and falls down a pipe. The key's lost and Merle's still chained. Merle gets angry.

"Son of a bitch! You did that on purpose!" he shouts.

"I didn't mean to!" T-dog screams but.

"You lie!" T-dog is up and heading for the door again, there's nothing more he can do. Merle's screaming at T-dog not to leave him.

"I'm sorry man! I'm sorry!" T-dog apologizes. He gets through the door and starts down the steps but pauses. He sets his stuff down, turns around and grabs the pad lock for the door. He threads it through the handle and puts the lock on. Then he grabs his stuff and rushes down the steps. He weaves his way through the building until he gets to Morales and the others. As soon as Rick reaches the doors, he taps on them. Andrea and the other immediately pull the chain that raises up the doors. They grab their things, jump in the truck, and shut the door. Then they're speeding through Atlanta heading for the road that will take them back to their camp. They're alive and unharmed with all save one of their original group. Morales, Andrea, Jacqui, T-dog, and Glen along with new guy Rick Grimes head for the safety of the camp, leaving lone Merle Dixon trapped on a roof top in the overrun city of Atlanta.

Later that evening, losing the high that he had hours earlier and going on no water in the scorching Georgia heat, Merle Dixon seems as if he's losing his mind.

"That's right. You heard me bitch. You got a problem? Bring it on if you're man enough, or take it up the chain if you're a pussy. You heard me, you pussy-ass noncom bitch. You ain't deaf. Take it up with the chain of command or you can kiss my lily-white ass." Merle mutters out and laughs deliriously "That's what I said. You heard me. And then this idiot, he takes a swing, you know, and well… oh you should've seen the look on his face when I punched out his front teeth. Yeah, five of 'em. Pow! Pow! Just like that. Huh. Oh my gosh. Sixteen months in the stockade – oh that's what them teeth cost me. That was - that was hard time, but by damn it was worth every minute of it just to see that prick spit his teeth out on the ground. Yes sir, worth every minute." His delirious talking stops and he stares up at the sky.

He pulls at the cuffs and that seems to make him realize what's going on. He starts to panic. "Oh no. No no! No no! No no!" he yanks at the cuffs, blooding his wrist even more. He begs, begs to no one, to God. In his state he probably doesn't even know what he's saying, but he says it. Then the door opens a crack and some walkers manage to poke their heads through. They can't get all the way through, but that doesn't seem to comfort the delirious Merle. He cries out and lays down, scooting himself under the pipe as if it would protect him if they would get through. Then he sees the hacksaw that was knocked over when everyone was hurrying to leave. There's a belt lying within his reach and he thinks that if he can just get the buckle hooked on the saw, he'll have his way out. A painful way, but a way out. A way off that roof, away from those walkers, and a shot at living. He flings the belt towards the saw, trying and trying again to hook it. He's determined now. He wants to live and in the mind of Merle Dixon, live he would.


	2. Chapter 1

_I realize that the prologue was very boring but I felt that it was necessary so that I could better introduce everything in the first chapter. For all of you who read the prologue and are back or are even visiting for the first time and made it to chapter 1, I'm sorry the prologue was so bad and boring. Don't worry, I thought so too. :) But that you are here means a lot. Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you think!_

_-Aldela_

_P.S.- I do not own The Walking Dead or any of its characters. I just own the plot line (Save for the prologue) and Nashoba._

* * *

_Chapter 1_

The cool wind felt good against my sweaty skin. It was refreshing and calming, allowing me to focus better as I pulled a single arrow from the quiver on my back, notching it on my bowstring and pulling it back. I slowly took aim, the arrow tip following each movement of the shuffler as it shuffled through the alley. I supposed that it had once been a young man, probably in his mid to late twenties. Now he was just a shell, something a monster took over and decided to use.

My family had always been quite religious, we were Christians or believers in Christ, the son of God. The religion had come to our tribe years ago, after many Native American tribes were forced off their lands and were mixed with the foreigners. My tribe, the Chickasaws, were one of many to adopt the religion. In my home, we had followed the written word, studied it, and learned from it. We knew that we were saved and we knew that in the end the Christians won the battle between good and evil. But we also knew that Satan, the devil, would have control of the earth for some time. How long, exactly, we did not know. His evil would taint the earth and the people living would suffer greatly. It was never said exactly what evil he would unleash, and I admit that I never imagined it would be what I faced now. But as my arrow followed the undead creature, I realized that it was an evil that fit the predictions. His evil had tainted the earth and those still living were suffering greatly, whether by starvation or dehydration, the loss of family or friends, or being tainted by these monsters that had been unleashed, the evil was fit of Satan. And it was obvious that he enjoyed the torture and pain he was inflicting.

I said a silent prayer for the soul of the now dead man and then released the arrow. The only sound as it sliced through the air was the thwap of the bowstring as it snapped back into place and the whooshing of air as the arrow moved through it and landed in the skull of the shuffler. It dropped to the ground, dead for its second time. I looked up and down the alley, making sure there were no more shufflers before stepping out into the open and heading towards the shuffler.

Everything was so deathly quiet; it was unnerving. It had always been quiet at home but even my home had never been this quiet. My town was a very small town, consisting of no more than three hundred people and about half of that were the elders and adults. It was a quiet town with little excitement. The most excitement there ever was, was when the teenage boys and girls would pull off the annual prank wars. It lasted maybe a week before it was over and life went back to the quietness it was known for. While there was little excitement among us humans, there was always excitement among the animals. They played, they hunted, they rested, they searched for mates; there was always some activity between them. Birds would sing constantly, squirrels and rabbits played among the leaves, the farm animals were up early calling for food and water, coyotes howled through the night; our small town was bustling with wildlife activity. Even in big cities such as Atlanta there was always animal activity, but right now, not a soul was moving, human or animal.

I pulled my arrow from the skull of the shuffler, wiping the blood on my already bloodstained jeans. I put it back in my quiver before moving on to the alley wall, walking along it. I came to what I had been in the alley for in the first place, a fire escape ladder. It was half pulled up, like someone hadn't wanted anyone to follow them but something had distracted them. I launched myself upwards, grabbing onto the lowest rung. As gravity pulled me back to the ground, my weight pulled the ladder down. Once my feet were planted on the ground I pulled the ladder the rest of the way down. Glancing once more up and down the alley, I gave myself a satisfied nod and began my ascent to the roof of the building. Whatever may have been in the rooms of this building held no interest to me.

I didn't know why I had come to Atlanta, it wasn't like I needed to. I was a woman of the wild, I had lived in a town where we made our living farming, hunting, scavenging, and crafting. We caught, hunted, or grew everything we ate. We made our own jewelry. We didn't make all our weapons, we weren't strangers to things like modern hunting knives or guns, but we did craft things like bows and arrows. They were well made and just as accurate as a bow you'd find in a store. We didn't make our clothes either. We wore things like jeans and tank tops and boots, we weren't completely shut off from the world. Even still, I had no need of anything in the city of Atlanta but something had pulled me here and I wasn't about to deny it, no matter how strange it was. My grandfather had always said that everything happens for a reason, so coming to Atlanta had to mean something, I just hadn't figured it out yet.

When I finally reached the very top of the building, I pulled myself up and over the edge, landing easily on the roof. I could hear shufflers now, the groans and snarls they made were hard to miss, even after weeks of hearing them. I glanced towards where the noise was coming from and saw that there were a group pushing against a metal door. The door didn't seem to be opening and I guessed it to be stuck. They started pushing a little harder when they noticed me but the door never budged. I turned away from them and climbed the three steps to a little bridge that led over some of the buildings piping. I crossed it and headed for the opposite end of the building.

I would have searched the other side for another ladder or a landing, went down it and then been on my way if it wasn't for a sound that I hadn't heard in weeks. A living, breathing human being. I spun on my heels to face the sound and it was then that I realized why I had been drawn to the city. Sitting on this roof with his hand cuffed to a metal pipe was a man, a rather large man, with short grey hair. This man was sawing at his hand.

He was muttering to himself and from what I could hear, he sounded delirious. It wouldn't have surprised me. Who knew, save for those who had put him there, how long he had been there in the heat of Georgia with no food or water. He was obviously desperate enough that he was attempting to saw off his own hand to escape his open prison. He was succeeding too. His hand appeared to be half sawed off and if I hadn't seen a deer skinned and gutted I might have vomited. It was a gruesome sight. A sight I had to put a stop to.

I walked towards the man, my steps silent as always. He was still muttering, and as the words became clearer I knew that he was indeed delirious. I didn't know exactly how to approach him, what do you say to a man trying to cut off his own hand? I didn't know, but knowing that I had to stop him, I said that first thing that came to mind. It wasn't the smartest thing. In all honesty it was actually rather stupid, but it got the man's attention.

"You'll lose your hand and likely your life trying to get out that way."

The man jumped, the saw dropping from his hand and clattering to the ground. He spat out curses as he looked up at me.

"Who the hell're you?" his voice was deep and raspy. His words were laced with anger and distaste and he didn't sound happy to see another living being. I couldn't say I blamed him, seeing as it appeared the last living people he'd had contact with had left him chained on a roof to die.

"My name's Nashoba." I said calmly. I had stepped forward enough that I could reach the saw, so I crouched down and grabbed it before backing away. If the man noticed, he didn't say anything about it.

"Nashoba? Wha' the hell kinda name is tha'?" he barked. I rolled my eyes. Now that I was closer to him, I could see what part of his problem was. He was high, or he was coming down from a high and starting to suffer withdrawal. I almost rolled my eyes again. I had seen his kind before. He was a drug addict and by the way he talked I was also going to go with redneck. I had seen many men like him when I was in college. I had went nine years ago when I was nineteen to a college in a big city north of my home to become a doctor. During my years in the city, I saw and met many different types of people. The play boys, the jerks, the preppy girls, the tough crowd, the goths, the emos, the geeks, the nerds, the rednecks. I'd met or seen them all. This man was a redneck and a drug addict and if what I'd learned over the years was anything to go on, I was willing to bet he was also a complete asshole.

"It's my name." I told him evenly. He just stared at me for a moment before it turned to a glare.

"Alrigh' Nashoba," he rasped, drawing out my name "wha' the hell do ya want?"

"Only to help." I said honestly. He scoffed.

"Don't need no help from some little bitch like ya. Ain't nothing ya can do fer me. Why don't ya git on and quit tryin' ta play hero lil' girl." He growled out. Anger flared in me.

"I can get ya outta those cuffs." I said dryly "Without havin' to saw off your hand to do it." I held up the bloody saw so that he could see it.

When he realized that his only method of escape was gone, he started to panic. "You little bitch! Give me tha'! I need it! I gotta get outta these damn cuffs and I gotta use those!" he shouted at me. I shook my head.

"I can get ya out. Without makin' ya lose your hand. Though I suppose there's a possibility that ya could lose it anyway. Ya have it half sawed off." I told him "Just let me help. I can get ya out and fix up your hand so that ya at least have a chance at not losin' it."

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut short by his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his body jerking spastically. Concern filled me and I took a step forward. When I realized that he wasn't waking back up I rushed forward. I dropped to my knees beside him, taking his hand and arm in my hands. His hand was hanging off his wrist, the main reason his hand was still on was that he hadn't sawed through the bone. I sighed in relief, there would have been no fixing it if he had sawed through the bone.

I gently put his hand down and moved to examine the cuffs. They were covered in blood but were otherwise unaffected by the man's efforts of escape. If he had tried to use the saw on them he hadn't succeeded. I pulled my hunting knife from its sheath at my hip. With careful precision so as not to damage his hand any further, I drove the tip of the knife into the key hole. I heard the scraping of metal on metal and pulled my knife out. I set it on the ground beside me and attempted to undo the cuff, it slid open easily. I smiled happily to myself and grabbed my knife, putting it back in its sheath. Now I just had to find somewhere relatively safe to fix him up.

I groaned quietly to myself before moving to the edge of the building. I looked over the edge, trying to find a good place to go down. I couldn't go through the rooftop door, there were bound to be shufflers all over the place and while I could keep myself safe, I didn't think I could keep myself and the man safe. I didn't know how I was supposed to get him down a ladder by myself though. I growled to myself, this just kept getting better.

Then I found the answer to my problems. A lift, the one that you often saw painters or window cleaners on when they were working on the side of a tall building. I sighed in relief, at least now I had a way down. I hurried back to the man. I crouched beside him and with a straining effort managed to swing his good arm across my shoulders and heaved him up. He was dead weight and it was a struggle to get him to the edge of the roof but I was determined to do it. I had to save him.

Once I had gotten him to the edge, I realized that the lift was part of the way down the building. I groaned once more and gently leaned the man against the wall. I swung one leg over the edge, then the other and began the careful descent down the side of the building to the lift. No ladder and no rope, just my wits and reflexes. I hoped that there wouldn't be an open window with a shuffle in it. If there was, I was screwed.

Every move brought me a little closer to the lift. I was trying to hurry and be cautious at the same time but it wasn't working. I had lost my grip and almost fallen a couple of times. I tried to slow myself down but then the image of that man dying just made me move faster. It felt like hours before I finally was within ten feet of the lift, but then, of course, something had to make me fall.

I was hanging onto a windowsill, looking down trying to find my next foot hold, when a shuffler slammed against the window. I jumped and lost my hold on the window sill. The rush of air as I fell was the only thing that registered in my mind until my back hit the balcony that I hadn't realized was below me. I hit with a thud and my head slammed against the concrete. My vision swam and I knew then and there that I had a concussion. I struggled to stay conscious, knowing that if I didn't _I_ could die. There was a possibility that there was a shuffler in that room that would love to have me for a meal and even if there wasn't, if I passed out and went hours or days without water, I could die before I could get some.

I tried to push myself up, but I only fell back down. I couldn't see straight and the world was blurring and spinning. I shut my eyes, hoping that it would eliminate some of my inability to stand. I waited for a few precious moments, allowing my head to settle a little, before I attempted to once again get to my feet. I succeeded this time, barely. I had to latch onto the railing of the balcony so that I wouldn't fall back down all over again.

Slowly, I raised a hand to the back of my head, pressing tenderly to find where my head had hit. I sucked in a sharp breath when I found it and muttered curses not fit for little ears under my breath. I pulled my hand back and rubbed my fingers together. At least there wasn't any blood. It would have been worse if I had been bleeding. Head wounds always bleed terribly and I couldn't take care of it right now. I still had to figure out how I was going to get down to the lift now that I could barely stand.

I risked opening my eyes. It didn't help my aching head but at least now the blurriness wasn't quite as bad and the spinning had stopped. I didn't dare move yet though. Instead I peered over the edge, looking down at the lift that was only about five feet away now. I could have probably jumped it had I not just fallen but I could risk it now. I had to think of something and soon or the man up on the roof was liable to die of blood loss. I'd wasted enough time as it was.

I couldn't very well continue climbing down and jumping was out of the question but what choice did I have? I had nothing that I could use to pull the lift towards me and the controls were on the lift itself. The buttons that – that was it! I almost jumped for joy at the thought. The buttons controlled whether the lift went up or down, all I had to do was shoot the up button with an arrow and it should bring the lift up! A smile tugged at my lips.

With shaky hands I let go of the railing and reached behind me to pull my bow from my back. I pulled it off slowly, holding it in my left hand as I reached behind me again with my right for an arrow. I shuffled my feet, getting into my stance as I nocked the arrow and pulled back. I struggled, my head aching and my body not responding as well as it could've. When I finally had the string pulled back, I took at the green button that had the word "UP" printed above it. With a deep breath I let the arrow fly. It missed and flew off into the air beyond the lift.

I muttered more curses as I reached for another arrow. My blurry vision was hindering my ability to shoot. I took aim again and let the arrow go. That one missed as well. I cursed again and reached for a third arrow, hoping that the phrase "The third time's the charm" really would turn out true. I nocked the arrow and aimed carefully, taking as much time as I possibly could. I had to hit the button. With another deep breath, I let the arrow go. It soared through the air and, thankfully, hit its mark. The button deflated as the arrow pressed it down. The lift, with a creaking noise, slowly started to rise. I smiled as I slung my bow back across my back.

The lift was moving slowly, which was good because so was I. Carefully, still wary of my injury, I swung my legs over the railing one at a time, holding onto the railing as I waited for the lift to reach me. When it did, I stepped onto the edge, holding onto the railing of the lift. It teetered back and forth and I clung for my life to the railing. Somehow I managed to swing myself over and land on the lift and with my weight now in the center instead of on the edge, the lift gradually stopped swinging. With a sigh of relief I scooted over to the controls and waited until the lift reached the roof of the building.

When the lift was level with the roof I reached up and shoved the stop button down. The lift grated to a stop with noises that probably attracted half the city but I didn't care. I'd made it down and back up in one piece with only a few injuries. If only my work was done.

I hauled myself to my feet, swaying slightly but this time needing no assistance to remain on my feet. There was a piece of metal sticking up on the roof and I had rope in my pack. I shrugged my pack off and dug around for the rope. When I found it, I made a slip knot on one end. Getting the rope around the metal pipe wasn't easy and it took me several tries but when I finally got it around the pipe, I pulled the rope tight and started pulling the lift towards the edge of the roof where I had first started my descent down. When the lift bumped against the roof, I knelt down and tied my end of the rope to the railing of the lift, holding it in place. I climbed over the railing and the edge of the roof, landing in a heap on the other side beside the man I was going through all this trouble to save. I groaned and shoved myself up. With some effort I managed to get him up and over the edge onto the lift. I climbed on myself and reached over to slip the rope off the pipe. The lift swung back and forth, slowly but surely coming back to its original position,

Once the lift had stopped swinging, I walked over to the controls. I hit the down button and the lift creaked as it started its slow descent down. I watched the street below as we headed down, glancing back to make sure we didn't miss the balcony.

I hit the stop button when the lift was level with the balcony. Using the rope, I secured the lift to the balcony. I swung myself over and pulled out my hunting knife. I moved to the sliding glass door. It was unlocked and slowly I slide the door back, my knife raised and ready to strike. Nothing immediately came at me, so I stepped carefully inside, checking both sides. I made my way through the tiny apartment. It must have been the building's owner's apartment.

I made my way into the bedroom and sure enough there was a shuffler. I had expected to find at least one. I made quick work of it and it landed on the floor with a thunk. I checked the rest of the apartment before going back and dragging the shuffler out onto the balcony. I strained to heave the body up and over the railing and when I did, I watched with a bit of satisfaction as is plummeted down and landed on top of a couple more of its fellow shufflers.

With the apartment now secure, I pulled the man off the lift and hauled him into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed. My head was throbbing and my vision was really starting to blur again but I pushed it back and gathered the things I would need to fix his hand. Water, thread and a needle, bandages and other things. I had some herbs in my pack that I had found that we good for medicines. I pulled everything out and set it down on the little table beside the bed. I was happy he was passed out because I knew I wouldn't have been able to hold him down while I cleaned his wrist.

I poured peroxide that I had found in the bathroom into the wound. It bubbled and snapped as it ate away the bacteria. While the peroxide worked, I put some of my herbs into a little bowl of water and used a fork to mash and mix them into a paste. Once I was done, I dabbed away the peroxide and smeared the paste into the wound. I washed my hands off and grabbed the needle and thread, threading the thread through and beginning stitching. I didn't keep track of how many stitches I made but it was so many. When I tied off the last stitch, I smeared what was left of the paste onto the outside of the wound, washed my hands off again and grabbed the gauze that I had with me. I wrapped it around his wrist, across his palm and mid-way down his forearm and then covered it with athletic tape wrap that I had found a few days before to hold it in place. If I'd had a wrist brace I would've used that, but I was just working with what I had and what I had would have to do.

I sighed to myself once I was done. Hopefully it would work and he'd at least be able to partially use his right hand again once it was fully healed. If it didn't work, he'd either lose his right hand or die. I hope it didn't come to the latter. I'd just have to wait and see. He had a lot of pain and suffering in the near future, what with his hand and his withdrawal from whatever drugs he'd been using. I'd never heard of anyone dying of withdrawal but I suppose it was possible.

I grabbed what was left of the materials I had used and placed them in my pack. I zipped it up and set it outside the door to the bedroom. I shuffled around the apartment, locking doors and closing curtains. When I was done I staggered over to the couch, pulled off my bow, quiver, and sword before collapsing on the couch. I was out within a matter of minutes, try as I might to stay awake. I knew I'd be in for hell when I woke up because the man in the bedroom next to me would likely be awake by then and I knew he wouldn't be very happy. Pain, confusion and withdrawal would do that to a person. For now, though, I didn't care. All I cared about was sleep that would hopefully take away the throbbing in my head. Nice, quiet, peaceful sleep….


	3. Chapter 2

_Yay! I finished chapter 2! :D I don't know if anyone is actually readin' this, so please leave a review if you are and tell me what ya think. I probably won't keep postin' after this chapter if there aren't any reviews that show people are readin' it. I just wanted to get a couple chapters up so that I could see if people would like it. I'll just have to wait and see._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the walking dead or any of its characters. I own Nashoba and the story plot (Minus the prologue)._

_Also, if I do end up continuin' this, will someone let me know if the rating needs to be changed because of language? I'm tryin' to keep the language as low as possible, but for anyone who is a Walking Dead fan, we all know how the Dixon's and their mouths are. :) Foul language is just part of the package. Anyway, read on and please review!_

* * *

Merle wasn't sure what was worse, the pain in his hand or his head. He couldn't remember what had happened; everything from the past two days was a fuzzy blur. He remembered waking up two days ago with a craving for a fix, which he had sated. He also remembered getting into a very heated debate with his little brother about going with the Asian kid to Atlanta for a run. Daryl, his little brother, had all but begged him to not go but Merle went anyway. He thought the reason why he had wanted to go had something to do with wanting to find more drugs but he couldn't be sure. Speaking of drugs, he was in dire need of a fix.

Merle went to reach for the pocket he kept his stuff in. He reached, like always, with his right hand. What wasn't like always, was the jaw breaking pain that accompanied this reach. Merle grunted in pain and clenched his teeth tight. What the hell was wrong with his hand?

He tried to sit up but found himself too weak to do so. He really needed a fix and to know what was going on with his hand. He also needed to know what had happened after he had went with the Asian kid to Atlanta. The pain from his hand combined with the need for a fix rendered him immobile. Withdrawal was something Merle had gone through a few times before, when he had tried on his own to quit his addiction, and he now knew that it was the reason why his head felt as if it was about to explode.

Merle did a mental once over, trying to find out what all was wrong. His hand hurt like a bitch, his head was throbbing, for that matter his whole body hurt. He hated withdrawal. Merle had always prided himself on being able to stand high amounts of pain and with that tolerance one would have thought him capable of kicking his addiction. In reality, while Merle did have a high pain tolerance, the tolerance was only for more physical things such as broken bones or bruises. The deep, whole body ache that accompanied his withdrawal was something Merle Dixon just couldn't handle. He groaned out loud, or at least tried to. He found that his throat was bone dry and any sound came out as a low hiss. He also noted that he was starving. When was the last time he had eaten?

Gritting his teeth, Merle tried to push himself into more of a sitting position, wary of his right hand. He succeeded, leaning back against the headboard of the bed (A bed? When had he gotten in a bed?), he looked down to examine his hand only to find it neatly wrapped in what he suspected was gauze underneath some blue tape like stuff. He knew the name but it didn't come to him in that moment. He was shocked. What had happened to his hand and who had bandaged it? Merle mentally groaned, this day just seemed to get better and better.

"Starin' at it ain't gonna make it magically heal up." A voice that sounded strangely familiar stated from the doorway. Merle's head snapped up to find a woman with hair as black as midnight and eyes like turquoise leaning against the door frame watching him. Merle's eyes wandered her frame, examining her.

"Who're you?" he asked. He couldn't shake that she looked familiar but with his mind in the foggy haze that it was, he probably could've danced naked on a table with a dog and not remembered it.

The woman's eyebrows creased as she continued to watch him. "Ya don't remember anythin', do ya?" she asked. Warily, Merle shook his head. She sighed, pushing herself off the door frame and taking a few steps into the room, her turquoise eyes still watching him. "So ya don't know who I am?"

"If I did, ya think I'd be askin' ya who the hell ya're? Jeez, ya need ta get yaself a brain." Merle snapped at the woman. Her piercing turquoise eyes narrowed and Merle had to resist the urge to squirm.

"Forgive me for wantin' to be absolutely sure." She spat out sarcastically. Merle glared at her. They stayed like that for a matter of minutes, glaring at each other. Merle had to force himself not to look away. The damn woman looked like she was staring into his soul with those eyes.

"Wha' 'appened to mah hand and where the hell am I?" Merle growled out to change the subject and hopefully get her eyes off his. His efforts weren't successful. She took another step forward, her eyes never leaving his.

"I found ya, yesterday evenin', handcuffed to a pipe up on the roof of this buildin'. You had a hacksaw and were sawin' at your own hand. I tried talkin' to ya but ya passed out 'fore I could make any real progress. I got ya outta the cuffs and got ya down here. It's an apartment. I'm guessin' the owner's." she explained. Images flashed through Merle's head. No, not images. Memories.

They'd gotten to Atlanta, him and the band from the quarry. They'd made it to the department store. They'd gathered supplies and were ready to leave when things went to shit. The geeks had surrounded the entrance and they were left without a way out. He remembered the Asian kid, Glen, leaving the building. He'd said something about trying to find another way out or something like that. They'd went to the roof for a while before everyone but him had left to go back downstairs. He'd gotten bored and decided some target practice was in order. He'd gotten up on the edge and had started shooting geeks down on the road.

The rest of the group had burst out onto the roof and were yelling at him. He remembered getting into a fight with the black man, T-dog? Was that his name? Merle thought so. Anyway, he remembered beating the shit outta the man before being pulled off by a cop. The cop had handcuffed him to the roof and to top it off had thrown his stuff off the edge of the building. Merle scowled at the memory. They'd left him there like a trapped animal to die. His scowled deepened. Assholes.

"Ya look like ya remember somethin'. How ya got like that maybe?" she asked, her voice quiet. Merle scowled at her.

"Ain't none-a ya business woman." He growled. The aches were starting to get worse and Merle's patience, which was very little on a good day, was getting less and less by the minute. Plus, that damn woman kept watching him with those knowing turquoise eyes. He needed to get out of there, away from this woman and to go find his little brother. He tried to force himself to sit up but the ache and the pain in his hand was just too much. He dropped back to the bed with a hiss of pain.

"You won't be movin' much for at least a week. Not with the withdrawal. You'll be lucky if ya can talk." She told him. Merle scowled again.

"I'll move if I wanna. Ya ain't keepin' me 'ere." Merle snarled.

"Oh on the contrary. I give it another half hour/forty five minutes before the withdrawal really kicks in. You're screwed then. Stuck with me 'til it's over. Even with the withdrawal not as bad yet as it will be, you're still not movin' with your hand the way it is. You try and you're likely to rip out the stiches. Ya almost lost your hand as it is, don't need to go and make it any worse." The woman told him calmly. Merle glowered at the strange woman. He opened his mouth to yell at her or cuss her out, he didn't know for sure, but the pain intensified and Merle cried out in pain as his stomach heaved.

"M'kay, maybe I lied. Looks like the withdrawal starts now." Merle could see the woman smirking through tear filled eyes. He growled in anger and in pain. Merle wanted to shout at her, yell and scream until his lungs hurt. He didn't know this woman, for all he knew she would kill him in his sleep. From what she had said, she'd fixed him up but that didn't mean she was good. He needed to get away from her but he also knew that she was right. He was stuck here. With her. For, at the very minimum, a week. Without his stuff, he wouldn't get a fix because he knew damn well that this woman wouldn't give him anything. He could tell that by the way she was smirking. He was in for a very long week full of shaking, sweating, nausea, aching, and cramps.

* * *

I watched the man in front of me as he writhed in pain. His eyes were clenched tightly and I let the smirk fall from my face. Sure, he seemed like a complete jackass, but that didn't mean that I wanted to see the man in pain. He was still a human being, and though I had learned in my time on the road since this had all started that the living could be just as dangerous as the dead, I had been brought to Atlanta to save this man and I wouldn't have been brought here if he wasn't a good man. At least, I believed that. Maybe I had been brought here because he wasn't and he would end my life quick and easy instead of a slow and painful death by the shufflers. I didn't know but I knew I would find out.

I watched the man, whose name I still didn't know, for a little while longer. I knew what was coming, it wasn't the first time I had seen someone go through withdrawal. I'd met a girl in college who had gotten addicted because of a boyfriend she'd had. After he left, she wanted to get clean and asked me if I would help her. I'd agreed and I'd been with her for the entire week that it had taken her to overcome it. I knew what this man would go through and I knew how to help him. I turned on my heel and walked out to gather the things I would need. I couldn't take away his pain, I couldn't even ease it really, but I could give him someone to lean on. Someone that could at least try to distract him from the pain he was feeling.

_Three days later_

The first three days had been taxing. I had gotten very little sleep as I was with him most of the time. I kept a damp rag on his forehead so that it would soak up the sweat and keep him as dry as possible. I kept some water by the bed but I knew he would be drinking any of it. He'd just throw it back up if he did. I didn't even try offering him any food for the result would have been the same. There wasn't a whole lot that I could do for him physically, the pain was something he'd just have to go through. I did keep his hand bandaged and well looked after. The last thing he needed at that point was an infection.

He surprised me by speaking. I know my friend, Molly, hadn't spoken much if at all but this man was speaking quite a lot. Granted most of what he said was either begging me to find him some drugs or cursing me for not finding some, he was still speaking. I tried engaging him in conversation, asking him his name, where he was from, his family but it only brought more cursing. I'd eventually moved on to just rambling about anything and everything that came to mind. Music, school life, television, shopping and anything else that seemed logical to talk about. I even talked about the weather, as cliché as it is. It never really seemed like he listened to me, but I figured it was worth a try.

There were times, of course, when I would leave him alone. I knew he wouldn't go anywhere but I kept anything that he could use to harm himself or me away from him and locked the bedroom door when I left. I'd leave to eat or use the bathroom, normal things that every human still had to do. I'd left once, towards the middle of the second day, to look around the floor the apartment was on. I looked for medical supplies mostly, things I could use on his hand to make sure it stayed clean but I also searched for food and weapons. Though I was well outfitted with weapons, one could never have enough in the world that we now lived in.

My most trusted weapon was my bow. It had been my fathers, he'd crafted it himself years ago when he was young and had given it to me for my fifteenth birth day. I'd asked him why, why he would give up his most prized possession, and he had told me that while it was his prized possession and had made him very proud, he was older and couldn't use it like he had when he was young. It was time that it make someone else proud and do good things for someone else. I had cherished the old, worn bow ever since and it had made me proud beyond belief. I'd killed my first deer with it. It had taken some time until I was able to use it, as it was much larger than I should have been able to handle. I'm a small woman, only standing at around 5'5" and it had been made for my father, who stood a little above six feet. The tension in the string had taken me weeks to be able to pull back but once I had, I had never stopped using it.

I had an assortment of other weapons; a pistol, a handful of knives, a katana, a hatchet, a baseball bat and several other things I had found that could be used as weapons. I didn't carry them all on my person, a couple of them were in the pack I carried with me and the others were in the truck that I used. I carried the katana, some of the knives, the pistol and the hatchet along with my bow. The rest of the knives were in my pack as well as a crowbar that I had found. The baseball bat, a shotgun, a rifle, a spear like weapon, and more were all stored in the bed of my truck. The truck had a cover on it and I had used black paint to black out the windows. No one could see anything I had and even if they were still curious, they couldn't get into it. All the supplies I have were safe.

The start of the fourth day was almost identical to the three before it. There was just one difference. The man was quiet. For a moment, I panicked. Had he died while I was asleep? I bolted up from my spot on the couch and scurried to the door, unlocking it with the key I had found on the kitchen counter days earlier. I shoved the door open, stepping inside. I stared at the hulking figure of the man I was trying to save, watching his chest. It rose and fell with each steady breath and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't died. He was still alive, just asleep. Looks like the exhaustion had finally caught up with him.

I let out another quiet sigh as I shuffled back out the door and around the apartment. I went to the kitchen first, cutting open a can of mixed fruit and having something that resembled breakfast. When the fruit was gone, I grabbed my water bottle and gulped down two mouthfuls. I screwed the lid back on, walking into the living room and tossing the bottle down on the couch. I went to my pack, pulling out some fresh bandages, tape, salve and alcohol. I carried everything into the bedroom, setting it all down as carefully as I could on the bedside table.

I pulled up the chair I had been using for the past three days and sat down. Slowly, I began peeling back the tape and gauze that covered his wrist. The wound still looked pretty bad; it was angry, red and puffed up. My stitches were simple thread I had found, probably not what a hospital doctor would have used but I worked with what I had. They had worked well enough so far and as long as he didn't bust them, they would continue to work. I was probably halfway through cleaning and re-bandaging his wrist when I was scared out of my focused stupor.

"Ya still ain't told meh ya name." his deep, gravelly voice rasped out. I froze up, my hands freezing in mid-air, the gauze still in my hands. I turned to look over at him.

He was still lying on his back, but now his midnight blue eyes were open and watching me as I sat frozen in place. His gaze was still filled with pain, as it would be for another three or four days at the very least, but it was also now filled with curiosity. When I didn't respond, he raised a dirty blonde eyebrow. "I ain't gonna bite. Couldn't even if I wanted." He grunted, shifting his weight slightly. I blinked a few times before turning back and focusing on his hand again.

I was silent, wondering if I should tell him. Sure, I had told him when he was still on the roof, but I had been trying to get him to let me help him then. He didn't have a choice now. He was stuck with me at least until his withdrawal was over. Then he or I, or both of us for that matter, could be on our way and never have to see the other again. He didn't need to know my name. He didn't need to know anything about me. But my momma and my daddy had raised me better. I had saved this man's life, the least I could do was tell him my name.

"Nashoba." I spoke quietly. I tore the gauze and reached for the tape to hold it in place. I could see the man turn back towards me out of the corner or my eye.

"Nashoba?" he asked "The hell kinda name is tha'?" I rolled my eyes. He had said the exact same thing on the roof three days earlier.

"It's my name and I'd 'preciate it if ya didn't make fun of It." my voice was hard and cold when I spoke. He grunted in pain as I put a little more pressure on his hand than I should have. I was very defensive of my name. It held a special meaning to me. My mother had told me that there was a story behind why she had named me Nashoba and when she had told it to me, I was in awe. It seemed like such a fictive story but everyone I asked said that the story was true. My name had been precious to me ever since.

I tore the tape, pressing it against his skin so that it would hold the gauze to his hand. He grunted again I looked up at him as I set the tape back on the bedside table. He was sweating heavily again. I grabbed the supplies I had used on his hand and stood up, turning and heading into the living room. I dumped the supplies on the couch and went to get a washcloth. I dampened it slightly so that it was cool and headed back to the bedroom.

His eyes were still open and watching me, but I could tell that it was getting harder and harder for him to stay conscious. "Go back to sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere." I said quietly as I sat down. I half expected him to glare at him and make some smartass or rude comment. Instead, I saw a little relief in his eyes before they were closed. It wasn't long before he was once again asleep.

_Later that evening_

He had slept most of the day. He had woken twice, dry heaving both times. He had nothing left in his stomach, he couldn't have. He had thrown so much up the first two days and he hadn't had anything to eat since whenever the last time he had eaten was, which was before I found him on the roof. I only left the room once and it was just to get my water bottle, the one lying on the couch. Otherwise, I stayed in the room with him the whole time. I had gotten up and looked around the room a little more, even looking out the window at the street below. It was littered with shufflers. I had wondered how he was going to get out of the city. With his hand the way it was, it would be quite difficult for him to go up or down a ladder. It was possible, but it would also risk hurting his hand farther.

I had eventually abandoned the window, not quite ready to think about the possible outcomes that awaited both myself and the man lying on the bed, whose name, I'd realized, I still didn't know. He knew my name now, and I still had yet to find out his. I had wondered over to the shelves, finding pictures of a man in his late forties to early fifties standing beside different people. A woman with strawberry blonde hair about his age and a younger version of said woman stood beside him in one. His wife and daughter perhaps? In another was a man slightly younger than him and one slightly older than him, both looked similar to him. Brothers most likely. In a third, the man was standing between an elderly man and woman. Probably his parents. A small smile had graced my face as I looked at the pictures. They looked like a happy family. I'd briefly wondered if any of them were still alive, looking for the man the resident of this apartment, the man that had turned into a shuffler, the one that I had killed. I'd pushed that thought from my mind and examined the rest of the shelves, finding an old book. It was a Stephen King book._ Cujo _was the name.

I had decided that I had nothing better to do while I sat beside the man. It would have been useless to talk, seeing as how he was asleep. So I sat in the chair, opened the book, and began reading. That was my current position, curled up in the chair with the book resting on my pulled up knees. I was startled from the book by his husky, sleep filled voice.

"S'a good book." I jerked, the book falling from my hands and landing on the floor with a thud that sounded much louder than it really was. His chuckle turned into a coughing fit and curses. I wanted to say something smart or sound concerned but the only thing I said was a stupid "Ya've read it before". He nodded at me, still coughing. I sat up, putting my feet back on the floor.

I didn't say anything, even though I probably should have. I just reached over and placed the back of my hand against his forehead as he lied back down. He was still burning up and for a moment, the fear that he was somehow infected flashed through my mind. I pushed it away, grabbed the washcloth and stood up. "I'll be righ' back." I muttered, turning and heading for the door.

I dampened the washcloth again and headed back to the bedroom. The man was dry heaving again. I winced. I wished there was something I could do for him, but there wasn't. I just went back to my chair, setting down as I folded the washcloth and placed it on his forehead. He sighed a little when the cool washcloth touched his heated skin. He had to have felt like he was on fire. I pursed my lips, leaning down and picking up the book, placing it on the table.

"Why ya doin' this girl? Whadda ya get outta helpin' meh?" he grunted out. I blinked in surprise. He thought there was some kind of catch to me helping him?

"I'm doin' it 'cause I wanna. That an' the naïve hope that if I was ever in a situation like this, that someone would do it for me. An' the only thing I get outta it is the satisfaction that I managed ta help someone in this shitty world. S'all I'm really lookin' for anyway." I explained. He scoffed, shaking his head.

"It'll get ya killed, bein' nice ta people like 'is. People ain't no good no more, not 'at 'ey ever were 'fore anyway. Ya only gonna get yaself inta trouble." He cried out then, his left hand encircling his midsection. I moved forward in my chair, but sat back again. I couldn't do anything. It was silent for a while. I knew he wasn't sleeping, his breathing was too erratic for that and his muscles were too tense. The silence was beginning to eat at me. I needed to talk, to get a little bit of noise in the too quiet room.

"It means wolf." I didn't know where the statement had come from or why I was telling him. But it got conversation started, which is what I was hoping for.

He turned his head, his midnight blue eyes open and staring at me with confusion written in them. "Wha' the hell ya talkin' 'bout?"

"My name…" I trailed "It means wolf. You asked, at least, you might as well have. It's Native American. Chickasaw."

"Yer an Indian?" he asked. A smirk played at my lips and I nodded. He smirked too before wincing. The room went quiet again and I started fidgeting. There needed to be some noise. Anything to fill the quiet. I tried to stay quiet, to keep myself contained. Usually silence was something I treasured. The city life that I had to live in when I was in college was too noisy and I had often longed for the quiet of my village. Now, the quiet only meant death.

"There's a story behind it. My name, that is…" I said quietly, pulling my knees up. I set my chin on my knees and watched the man in front of me. He was obviously in a lot in pain, yet surprisingly still conscious.

"Ya gonna tell meh 'is story?" he asked gruffly. I shrugged.

"If ya wanna hear it." I answered. It went quiet again and I thought that meant that he didn't want to hear it. I pursed my lips and steeled myself against the quiet. So much for conversation.

"Well, g'on." I raised my head and looked at him in confusion. "Yer story, g'on wit it." his gruff voice grunted out. My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Ya wanna hear it? I thought your silence meant ya didn't." I admitted. He just grunted in answer. I took a deep breath, ready to relive the night my mother had told me the story of my name.

* * *

Merle laid on the bed listening to the woman's soft, quiet breathing. Nashoba, that was her name. An Indian, a Chickasaw Indian. He wondered what she had been doing in Atlanta in the first place but didn't ask. He still didn't understand why she was helping him. He was Merle Dixon, drug addict, asshole redneck Merle Dixon, son of the legendary Buck Dixon. Granted she probably didn't know his father, but she had already said that she knew he was a drug addict, hell his current predicament proved it. His attitude towards her so far probably proved his asshole capabilities as well. What did she get out of helping him? She had said that she was helping him just because it was how she was raised but that couldn't be it, could it? There had to be some sort of catch.

"There's a story behind it. My name, that is…" Nashoba said quietly. Merle didn't answer, just continued to lay there, his left arm slung across his stomach, his right laying where she had placed it hours earlier after re-bandaging it.

"Ya gonna tell meh 'is story?" Merle asked when the Nashoba didn't start talking again.

"If ya wanna hear it." she answered. It went quiet again. Merle didn't answer, figuring she'd take that as the clue to go on. Merle did kind of want to hear the story. Hell, he honestly just wanted her to keep talking. Her quiet voice was actually kind of soothing and it helped distract him from his pain riddled body.

"Well, g'on." Merle grunted out when he realized that she wasn't going to talk without him saying something. "Yer story, g'on wit it."

"Ya wanna hear it? I thought your silence meant ya didn't." she admitted. Merle just grunted in answer, the pain flaring up badly again. He didn't trust himself not to whimper like a child if he opened his mouth again. He heard her take a deep breath.

"My mama was the one that named me. It was a late summer night and there was a storm goin' on when she told me why she picked it to be my name. 'It was late into the summer,' she'd started 'and I was out pickin' berries in the woods one evenin'. I was still pregnant with ya, of course. Ya could've came any day and your father urged me to stay home but I wouldn't have any of it. I went out and picked berries like I would've any other time. Turns out I probably Shouldda listened to your father.

"'I was still out there when a storm came in. It was a bad one and I was still a good ways from the village. I found a small cave, figured I could wait there until the storm passed, the bad ones like that never usually lasted long. It lasted longer than the others though and I was stuck there. I was scared, I was out there all alone but I knew I just had to wait out the storm. Then it started, the labor pains. You were comin' and I was far from the village and from anyone that could help.

"'I was terrified. The thunder and lightnin' crackin' made me jump every time and I knew if I didn't get back to the village or someone didn't find me that there was a possibility that one or both of us would die. Then I saw it.

"'Two glowin' eyes in the dark. I thought for sure I was gonna die, that I was a bear or somethin' and it was hungry. I scooted back s'far as I could but it wasn't far. The eyes kept comin' forward until they weren't even two feet in front of me and then they stopped. Another strike of lightnin' revealed that it. It was a wolf, a real young one. I was frozen, sure it was gonna attack me. But it didn't. It just sat in front of me and started whimperin'.

"'I didn't know what to do but it didn't matter. The labor pains were gettin' worse and I needed to get back to the village. I muttered under my breath 'bout gettin' to the village but I couldn't move. The wolf was still whimperin' but when I started mumblin' 'bout the village it stopped. It barked at me once, turned and disappeared into the rainy darkness.

"'I didn't know how long I sat there but then I heard barkin'. At first I thought I was just imaginin' it. It kept gettin' louder and louder though and eventually a pair of glowin' yellow eyes appeared in the cave entrance. Followin' behind those yellow eyes was a group of people. Your father and some of the others from the village. They were around me and were helpin' me and I knew we were both gonna be okay. In that chaos, I looked for that pair of eyes but I didn't see 'em. I haven't seen that wolf since and I wish I would. I'd like to thank it, take it some meat or somethin'. It's the whole reason your name is Nashoba, 'cause that wolf saved your life.'" Merle listened as she told the story. It was interesting but it sounded too far-fetched to be true.

"I thought she was just thinkin' up a good soundin' story but when I asked my daddy, he said it was true. So I asked some of the others that she said had come and they all said that it was true. I was still skeptic, especially since Mama said no one had seen it since. It was a little over a year later when I found out that it was true." Nashoba said. Merle turned his head and opened his eyes to look at the woman. She was still sitting with her legs pulled up, her chin resting on her knees.

"I was seven. It was in December, there was a good amount of snow on the ground. I was out with some of the other children. We were playin' tag in the woods. I got pretty far away from 'em and didn't know how to get back when the blizzard started. I was lost and cold. I found a cave, I didn't realize it at the time but it was the same one my mama was in. It went into the evenin' and then the night. I was gettin' colder and colder. Then somethin' warm pressed against me in the cold. I ended up fallin' asleep against whatever it was. I woke the next mornin' to find that it was a wolf that had come in and kept me warm all night. It grabbed my sleeve, pulled me up and took me back to the village. I don't remember much else but the hugs that I got and people tellin' me not to run off like that again. It wasn't until later that mama told me that the old wolf that had brought me back was the same one that had found her seven years earlier. I asked her how she knew and she said it was 'cause of the eyes. 'They were the same ones that appeared to me in the darkness, I'm sure of It.' she'd said. We never saw it again. Wolves didn't live very long lives and it was old when it found me. It probably died not long after that. I'm just happy that I know it was true." She said quietly. Merle could see the truthfulness in her eyes. Every word she had said was true.

"S'one way ta be brought inta the world." Merle muttered. She glanced over at him, a small smile on her face and tears in her eyes. She wiped at the tears.

"Yeah, I guess it is." She murmured back "I didn't bore ya did I?" Merle shook his head.

"Not a bit, darlin'. Was a good story." He drawled, wincing as another bolt of pain shot through his abdomen. She sniffled a little and Merle hoped to the high heavens she wouldn't start bawling. He didn't know how he was managing to talk to her without making a complete ass out of himself as it was, if she started crying he was shit out of luck. He could see her eyes start to flutter. She was sleepy. He was too, but he wasn't about to show it. What kind of man gets sleepy after a story? Not Merle Dixon.

"Ya never did tell me yer name." she yawned, sliding down in the chair to find a more comfortable position. Merle, who was suppressing his own yawn, froze. Should he tell her? She had saved his life and patched him up. Plus she wasn't anyone he wanted to hang around once he was free of the withdrawal. But what could it hurt? It was just a name. He could tell her now and in a week when they went their separate ways she'd forget all about him.

As sleep started to overtake him, Merle glanced sleepily at the already half-asleep woman in the chair beside him. "Name's Merle Dixon, darlin'." He muttered out, closing his eyes.

"Merle Dixon… Well Merle Dixon, it's nice to meet ya." She mumbled.


End file.
